


Ten Drops (the remix)

by ossapher



Category: American Revolution RPF
Genre: Gay Trio, Hurt/Comfort, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Wise Lafayette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6454231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ossapher/pseuds/ossapher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because there can never be too many post-Brandywine fics. This was for a tumblr challenge to write an alternate ending to something I'd written-- the result was Hamilton and Laurens having a lot of feelings and Lafayette deciding to fix everything with kissing. The first scene is almost identical to "Ten Drops" and it diverges from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Drops (the remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ten Drops](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479683) by [ossapher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ossapher/pseuds/ossapher). 



> Thanks to [DustySoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustySoul) and [scioscribe](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/scioscribe) for the prompt and [iniquiticity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity) for the awesome conversation :)  
> Warnings for injury (Lafayette was shot yesterday), emotional trauma (Hamilton and Laurens are very upset about it), and technically drug use (laudanum).

 

Washington and the physician were both busy with the battle’s other casualties, so Lafayette was alone in his tent when Laurens came to see him. He lay on a neatly-made bed, leg propped on a stack of pillows and swathed in bandages, and for a moment Laurens thought he was asleep. The aide made to creep back out the way he came, but Lafayette stirred and said, “Laurens, is that you? Please, stay.”

“Are you sure? If you need rest I can–”

“Pah, I feel like I have been resting for hours. Are you well?” Lafayette’s accent was thicker than usual; doubtless he was still half-asleep.

Laurens chuckled. “I dare say I do better than you, my dear fellow. Rumor has it you led a retreat with a bullet in your leg?”

“Well, I didn’t notice so much at the time,” Lafayette shrugged. A pink flush came to his otherwise pale face, betraying his pride despite his pretended nonchalance. And why should be not be proud? Brandywine had been his first major engagement, and he had acquitted himself admirably. Laurens had wondered, privately, if the young Frenchman’s zeal for liberty and glory off the field of battle could be equaled on it, but his actions had suited his words perfectly, and to his great credit. Laurens wished he could have stood alongside him—wished they could have faced the dangers of that day together. It did not seem fair that Lafayette had a wound, and Laurens did not.

“The men are all talking about it,” Laurens said, shaking himself. “They’re asking after your health. May I tell them you are well?” It was true: there had been heavy fighting, and many of the men around Lafayette had been wounded or killed. He could not help but notice Lafayette’s unhealthy pallor under his pleased flush; that despite clearly being interested in their conversation he was conducting it from flat on his back in bed; that his hands, usually animated, lay still upon the sheet.

“Nothing a few days rest and a new boot won’t cure. Mine filled up with blood and they had to tip it out like a bucket, ha! But wasn’t until they cut it off my foot that I felt any ill-effect.”

“The bones were not touched, then?”

“No, praise God. They will not have to amputate as long as there is no infection, and the doctor said there was little danger of that. I was very fortunate.”

“And you are not in much pain?”

“Eh, it is not so bad. The doctor gave me something a few hours ago, when I first came in. I forget the name.”

“Laudanum? Yes, that is powerful stuff.” Laurens peered closer at the marquis’ face. His irises were thin pale rings around big black pupils. The doctor must have given him quite the dose, if it was not yet out of his system.

And something else Lafayette had said bothered him. “Surely you did not come in only a few hours ago. The battle was yesterday morning!”

Lafayette’s eyes went wide. “Good Lord, I have slept a day and a night!” He attempted to sit up, panting, face going white under his freckles.

Laurens hurried over, pushing him gently back to the cot. “Washington wanted you to rest, my dear fellow. As you said, you lost plenty of blood, and there is no call at all for you to exert yourself. I merely came to see how you fared, and to fetch anything you might need. Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“I could do with something to drink, if you do not mind. But I am sure that the doctor–”

“The doctor has been amputating and operating left and right. I believe he has fallen asleep in the hospital tent. Please, allow me. It is no trouble at all.”

*******

Laurens stepped out into the cool night air, feeling more rattled than he had any right to. Not only was he _not_ the one who was shot—and his resentment on that front was also highly irregular—but Lafayette was expected to recover with full use of his leg. He had not realized how much the marquis had grown on him in the short month they had known each other, and he had not expected to be so deeply distressed at the sight of his sickbed. He could only hope that his cheerful façade had deceived his friend; it would not do to upset his recovery with his maudlin sentiments.

“Laurens, there you are! Have you seen Lafayette yet?” It was Hamilton, carrying a sheaf of papers and looking uncharacteristically frazzled. “How does he fare?”

“I’m bringing him water,” Laurens answered. “Will you come with me?” He had not meant to ask—Hamilton looked busy—but Hamilton surprised him by nodding immediately.

“Of course,” he said, and Laurens felt some tight-wound string of anxiety in his heart relax. Hamilton carried himself with such confidence. Surely he would know how to conduct himself in this situation, just as he did in every other. He would know exactly what to say to Lafayette.

A few of the camp women had hauled barrels upon barrels of water from the river, the men too exhausted after the battle to labor in the heat of the day. Laurens came upon one of these barrels now and drew out his canteen; he had not thought to bring Lafayette’s.

“Sometimes I wish I had studied medicine,” he said, submerging the canteen and watching bubbles escape.

“Why?” Hamilton seized his arm. “Is he sick? We should fetch Washington’s doct—”

“No, he is as well as can be expected, I think,” Laurens said, laying a reassuring hand on Hamilton’s shoulder. “I apologize, that was poorly said. I only wish… I only wish to be a little less useless.”

“Most doctors _are_ useless,” Hamilton said sourly. “Or perhaps what I mean is, most of their cases are hopeless. That’s why I switched to law.”

Laurens nodded, thinking of his brother’s cracked skull, of his mother’s rapid decline, of all the infant siblings he had lost through the years. He wondered what dead Hamilton was numbering.

The canteen had grown heavy in his hands; he drew it out of the barrel full to the brim. “Look at us,” he said, shaking his head. “I guarantee you, of the three of us, Lafayette is by far the most cheerful, and he has just been shot.”

Hamilton chuckled. “And we should be looking after him, instead of moaning about the state of modern physick in the dark.”

***

“Hamilton!” Lafayette cried, “I had not expected you! So soon after battle, you must be very busy!”

“Well, that is why I’ve brought this,” said Hamilton, ruefully holding up his portable writing-desk, a little rectangle of wood with an indentation for an ink bottle. He put it down in the seat of a chair and turned to Lafayette. “But first—how… how do you feel?”

There was a strange note to Hamilton’s voice that Laurens hadn’t heard before. If it had been another man, Laurens would have said Hamilton sounded unsure of himself.

“Oh, I will be gavotting about in no time. You’d better seize the chance to dance with all the ladies, because when I’m better they’ll all want to dance with _me_ and _I_ will step on their feet and render them as lame as I am now.”

The marquis laughed at his own joke, and then Hamilton laughed, a little shakily, and Laurens realized that something extraordinary was happening. He’d brought Hamilton to reassure Lafayette, but somehow, absurdly, Lafayette had turned the script on its head, and now _he_ was endeavoring to reassure _Hamilton_.

However he acted, though, Lafayette was still the injured one, and he’d said he was thirsty. “We brought you water,” Laurens said, stepping forward with the canteen.

“Yes, of course. Water,” Hamilton said, remembering himself.

Lafayette half-levered himself up on one elbow before gasping in pain. Hamilton pushed him back flat on the bed at once.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked urgently. “Is there anything the doctor has overlooked?”

“No,” Lafayette said, a little petulantly, “it’s only my leg, but you see, my leg is attached to the rest of me, so when I move…”

“Ah, of course,” said Hamilton, reddening slightly at the simple explanation. “Well, I’ll help you up.”

He slid one arm neatly round Lafayette’s shoulders and levered him upright, and Laurens handed the marquis the canteen—and promptly caught it as it threatened to spill.

“Sorry, sorry,” whispered Lafayette, his face paling. “It is heavier than I—forgive me—it is very warm in here—”

Hamilton hurriedly lowered him back flat on the bed, but if the marquis had not exactly fainted he had come near to it, and Hamilton looked so frightened and upset Laurens’ stomach twisted at the sight of him.

“It’s all right,” Laurens said, squeezing Hamilton’s shoulder and praying he spoke the truth. “Or at least, it’s not an emergency. He lost so much blood yesterday—I shouldn’t have handed him the canteen, that’s all.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Lafayette rasped. He still looked far too pale, and he had broken out in a sweat.

“Let’s give you a moment,” Hamilton said, smoothing Lafayette’s rumpled blanket, “and we can try again. And I won’t move you so quickly, and Laurens will hold the canteen. _D’accord_?”

“ _D’accord_ ,” Lafayette said. Laurens poured a little of the water onto a piece of cloth he found and gently wiped the sweat from his face. “So pampered,” Lafayette murmured. “If I’d known all I needed to do to get your and Hamilton’s hands all over me was take a little bullet, I would have done it sooner.”

Laurens grinned, because Lafayette had only been with the Continental Army a month; he had, in fact, taken a bullet at the earliest opportunity. Lafayette’s ability to joke in even the darkest hours was already one of his favorite qualities. “Just so you know, when I get shot, I expect the same from you.”

“If,” Hamilton butted in. “ _If_ you get shot.”

_Right_ , Laurens thought, kicking himself. _If_.

When he was finished with the cloth he smoothed Lafayette’s hair back from his forehead. “Ready to try again?”

“ _Oui_.”

This time Hamilton seated himself on the bed beside Lafayette, propping Lafayette’s head against his shoulder in addition to supporting his upper body with his arm. When they’d reached a reasonable height and the marquis still looked alert, Laurens gently held the canteen to his lips. Lafayette drank greedily, and probably would have gulped down the entire bottle in under a minute if Laurens had allowed it. As it was, it was still gone in five.

“Thank you,” Lafayette said, when at last Hamilton lowered him back to the bed. “I—” he began, and squeezed his eyes shut.

“What is it?” Hamilton asked, dropping to his knees and taking Lafayette’s hand in his.

“I didn’t—the two of you—and you didn’t have to—you have both been so kind to me and I—I—”

With a start Laurens realized there were tears at the corners of Lafayette’s eyes, and with an equal start realized that answering tears were welling up in his own. He swallowed hard and dashed them away. He had no right to be so emotional.

“Hush,” Hamilton said, and even a single syllable was enough to reveal that he was similarly affected. “You—you showed true courage and greatness of spirit yesterday, and though I’ve hardly known you for a month I already hold you in such high regard that seeing you wounded has left me—has left me, I admit, quite—”

Hamilton had been kneeling by the bed, his face almost of a level with Lafayette’s, and so Lafayette only had to turn his face slightly to turn Hamilton’s passionate speech into a passionate kiss. Hamilton made a high whine of assent, one hand finding the back of the marquis’ head, dragging through his bedraggled curls.

Laurens’ heart stuttered, and his limbs went numb. Of course, he had not expected that he and Hamilton were—of course they weren’t, he knew that Hamilton would never—theirs was not an _exclusive_ partnership, or at least, they had never negotiated such a position, and certainly, Laurens had no reason to expect such a thing, and… and furthermore, if he were honest with himself, had he found himself suddenly kissing Lafayette—especially a nigh-weeping Lafayette in need of consolation and reassurance—well, he would never have torn himself away.

Eventually Lafayette withdrew with a teary smile, and Hamilton did as well, gazing down upon him with such tenderness that Laurens would have resented it extremely, had he not felt such a great tenderness for the both of them in his own heart. Still, he felt very much like an intruder, and ugly, unbidden envy bubbled in his stomach. He had just resolved to sneak out of the tent when Hamilton turned to face him, eyes filled with guilt. “John,” he began, his voice rough.

“I’m not jealous,” Laurens lied at once.

“Good,” Lafayette said, sounding very pleased with himself for someone still flat on his back, “you can kiss me next.”

Hamilton’s mouth dropped open.

“I would be delighted to,” Laurens said, with smirk at Hamilton, who contrary to expectation looked like Christmas had come early.

Laurens had intended—if he had intended anything—to be very suave about the whole operation, but one look at Lafayette’s loonish grin as he leaned over him cracked the mask. “Look at you,” he murmured, grinning back, “you’re incorrigible,” and kissed him. Although Lafayette, with the lower ground, had the strategic disadvantage, it soon became clear to Laurens that he intended to take charge anyway. Laurens allowed it, with only a slight scolding nip, and soon they were at it in earnest. He could feel Lafayette’s chest rising and falling against his, and the gentle tickle of his eyelashes against his cheek—and Hamilton’s hand, closing hot on the back of his neck. He let out a brief gasp of surprise, and Lafayette made an answering sound, deepening their kiss. Hamilton’s lips found the skin just under his ear, and he began working his way steadily down Laurens’ throat, but Laurens did not allow his attention to be diverted. _I’m kissing someone else right now, thank you very much_. Lafayette flung an arm round Laurens’ shoulder and pulled himself up to greet Hamilton—and fell back with a cry.

Laurens and Hamilton broke apart, both instantly concerned for his leg. When it became clear that his wound was not aggravated—that the stab of pain was fading—worry turned to self-castigation.

“Don’t, don’t, it was my stupid fault,” said Lafayette, flinging a hand over his eyes. “Really, you should be pleased the combined power of your attentions was enough to make me completely forget that I have a hole all the way through my leg.” He grimaced. “A fact I’m not likely to forget again soon.”

“Oh, come now,” Hamilton said, getting to his feet, “Suffering is no use when we have laudanum to hand.” He walked over to the vial of laudanum, left beside the bed with a note from the doctor regarding the proper dosage.

“Ten drops should do it,” he said, after reading the note. Taking a bottle of weak wine from next to the laudanum, he poured out half a cup, then added the drops one by one. “There.”

Laurens helped Lafayette upright this time as Hamilton held the glass. “Will you stay? After I fall asleep, I mean?” the marquis asked. “Only, I’m a little cold…”

Something about the way he said it, with his eyebrow cocked just so, made Laurens doubt the purity of his motives, and one glance at the sly grin on Hamilton’s face confirmed his interpretation.

“Absolutely incorrigible,” Laurens repeated under his breath, pulling off his boots while Hamilton did the same.

“Completely out of control,” Hamilton agreed, pulling back the covers and sliding into the bed on Lafayette’s left. Lafayette sighed sleepily and took Hamilton’s hand.

Laurens shucked off his coat and suspenders and climbed in on Lafayette’s right. He rolled onto his side—in fact, it was the only way he could fit—and draped one arm across the marquis’ chest. “How’s that, then?”

“Mmm,” Lafayette yawned. “That’s much better, thank you.”

Laurens raised his head and met Hamilton’s eyes. “There’ll be no living with him after this.”

“Yes.” Hamilton hummed softly and dropped a light kiss on Lafayette’s cheek. “And no living without him.”

 


End file.
